Anarhcy & Pepper Spray

It took a cold and wet band of anarchists to show me what democracy looked like.

I met up with 40 or so members of the Revolutionary Anti-Capitalist Bloc (better known as the Black Bloc) at around 7 a.m. at Dupont Circle in Washington D.C. on Monday.

While I was a little leery of the group in colorful plastic ponchos, bandana face masks and hooded sweatshirts, they had one advantage over Sunday's mainstream lefty activists--unlike everyone sleeping at home, the Black Bloc had bothered showing up.

My friends and I knew that if we wanted to see hard-core protesting, the anarchists were the people to be with. Despite their reputation, and the police helicopter that had been assigned to follow them around, the group was peaceful and disciplined. As I watched officers beating people with billy clubs and driving cars through streets full of protesters, I agreed whole-heartedly with the protesters pointing at the urban tanks, chanting: "This is what a police state looks like."

Prior to meeting up with the anarchists, it has been a disappointing morning. The six members of my affinity group (the autonomous units of organization for the protests comprised of 5-20 people you trusted) had shown up at the Watergate Hotel at 4:30 a.m., hoping to join other protesters in stopping delegates from attending the IMF meetings. The moment we set foot on pavement, police officers in riot gear directed us to stand across the street at a George Washington University residence hall.

Munching on Snickers and beef jerky, we were still the only protesters there at 5:15 a.m., and we stood by as a bus of delegates, escorted by police, left the Watergate. Without more people, it seemed pointless for six of us to stop the delegates and take on 100 baton-wielding officers, so we stood as silent witnesses, waiting for backup. I later found out that picketing the Watergate had been junked in favor of readying for the march. This is what I get for joining an affinity group without a cell phone.

Consequently, the backup was nowhere to be found, but we did encounter two independent media photographers at 6:30 a.m., wearing ponchos emblazoned with "PRESS." After a quick cell phone consultation with their superiors, the journalists announced that the action was at Dupont Circle, right outside of the 80 blocks the police had cordoned off, and the photographers set out with us to join the anarchists.

The circle was filled with young members of the Black Bloc. While they looked intimidating and requested that we put away our cameras, they also handed my boyfriend and fellow affinity group member a plastic trash bag to wear over his sopping wet shirt. "We don't want you to get hypothermia," explained the girl who handed it to him. "You need another layer."

Into the storm

The circle began to fill with more people, and we finally set off marching with between 100 and 200 activists, intent on taking the streets to show we would no longer put up with the IMF's undemocratic, poverty-exacerbating programs. Block by block, the marchers were joined by scores of protesters, as if they had been called by the rhythmic thumping of the plastic bucket drums.

The police had barricaded several blocks surrounding the IMF, and so we marched on to these barricades, peacefully chanting and staring down the police, letting the world know we would not be dissuaded from sharing our views.

All was relatively calm until the marchers swarmed a bus full of delegates. Police beat off the front lines with billy clubs, and one officer mistakenly released a tear gas canister instead of a smoke canister, gassing several officers in addition to protesters.

By that point, members of the press were showing up almost as rapidly as the protesters, and they followed us as we were chased by bands of police swarming in from all directions.

The officers alternated between being peaceful and confrontational, at times letting us march and at times attacking us with no warning. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it and the unpredictability of it all heightened the tension.

"Walk slowly, don't run," everyone chanted in order to avoid a riot as the police came running after us. In addition to cell phones and walkie talkies, chanting served as a communication device, with messengers running from group to group saying "Repeat after me" before transmitting their message.